Nothing fancy about revelation. It’s all over the place. Consult yourself, your thoughts, consult your days and nights: it’s happening all the time. Epiphanies, ecstasies, conversions, rollovers, flapping-heart breakthroughs and mystical kicks-in-the-ass – all part of the current of our ordinary experience, common as eggs for breakfast. So the question becomes: once you’ve had a revelation (assuming you know you’ve had it) what do you do with it? What do you do next? Will you listen, will you allow yourself to be altered, even slightly? Because of course nothing could be easier than to put a pin in it and carry on as before. The force that keeps us doing what we’re doing, always crashing in the same car... Well, that’s a revelation all by itself.
Every Tuesday morning the writers of the Black Seed Writers Group assemble to produce the material that goes into this magazine. They show up, they sit down, they pick up their pens, and they doggedly and with great dignity make themselves vulnerable to whatever happens to be loose in the room. Nothing glamorous about it – but by doing this regularly, by making a practice of it, they are steadily renewing their covenant with possibility. Which will always, always be honoured, one way or another. An image, a truth, a joke, a jolt of poetry, a new writer sticking her head around the door, a reader shaken or enthused: revelation. Come back next week and it’ll happen again. (But differently.) The Pilgrim is four years old. I urge you to enjoy it.